Gathering the Many
by The Mab Queen
Summary: Facing down the possibility that Heaven and Hell will join forces to attack Earth, Crowley and Aziraphale are forced to turn to the only other divine beings who might be ready to protect the world with them: the Guardians of the three other Gates of Eden, and the demons who have been assigned to them since the beginning.


Nestor was alone when the shock reached her.

She was lounging on her balcony overlooking the overstuffed street full of humans buying and selling trinkets. The shock burned at the ground, climbing up her leg and hitting her spine, sending coordinates directly into her brain.

_United Kingdom. Tadfield. A graveyard._

It was a communication meant only for the demons stationed on Earth, a communication meant to bring them all together when necessary. And everyone knew which demon lived in England.

In her home full to the brim with mementos—a chair gifted by a king here, an impeccably designed watch taken from an explorer there—Nestor wasn't too inclined to heed the summons. No one was inclined to listen to the call of the flash bastard who fucked up the apocalypse. So she remained lounging on her fainting couch from the 1800's, watching the world go by from her balcony, when a familiar angel marched by her home with purpose.

Nestor considered ignoring it, but she had a lot of trouble ignoring Esper. Always had, even before the Fall. So it was a fruitless effort, and it was best to just follow her and see what was happening.

Nestor always wore a niqab when she went outside. It covered her 'problem areas' perfectly, plus it was hand-embroidered by a girl she had been quite fond of centuries ago. She walked through the crowded street stuffed to the brim with merchants like she belonged. Esper, on the other hand, pushed people to the side with the bulk of her shoulders, wore the same simple tunic she'd had since being assigned to Earth, dreadlocks falling past her shoulders, fists at her hips, and—

"Where are you going, then?"

Even now, Esper jumped when Nestor sneaked up on her like that. Nestor would be smiling, but it was physically difficult to smile these days, so instead her mean amusement just came to her eyes instead.

Esper, to her credit, huffed and brushed herself off, glaring imperiously at Nestor. "None of your business, where I'm going."

"Let nee guess!" Nestor held up her fingers, counting off on them. "United Kingdon. Tad'ield. _A gray yard. _"

Esper was shit at hiding her expression. Her mouth pinched, brow furrowing. "How did you know?"

"'Cause e'ryone knows snake dick and wingding run together now, and snake dick wanted nee there too." It hurt to grin, even to grimace, but it was the only way Nestor could get the wicked crinkles next to her eyes. "Sounds like they're getting two gangs together, aren't they?"

Esper pursed her lips, tucking her dreadlocks behind her ear in a way that was supposed to show her indifference. It just showed her nerves. "I don't care what you have to say. It's none of your business where I'm going."

"Wingding is on the outs with your side, though, isn't he?"

The crowds parted around them on instinct. Some humans might have noticed and wondered why, but it was only expected to the divine beings.

"I'm not sharing information with you," Esper said.

"You always are, whether you like it or not." Nestor shrugged, still grinning, even as the pain of her expression ached through her whole lip and jaw. "I'd hate to niss a darty _you're _attending. See you in Tad'ield."

And Nestor ducked into the crowds, letting them swallow her up just as Esper rose to protest.

* * *

Ion was in the middle of watching an exquisite bunraku performance when the Horn of Principalities sounded. None of the humans heard it, but it drowned out the singing for a good fifteen seconds, which left Ion cross.

But there were two hours left to the performance, so that left time for Ion to settle back into their seat and listen, watching as the puppets acted their parts and the master storytellers sang. They didn't think about the horn for the entire rest of the performance. They knew where it came from, anyway.

It was only after the performance ended, when Ion had had a chance to go backstage to express his admiration to the performers once again and promised that they had already bought tickets to _Chushingura _next week, that they walked out of the theater and actually considered the horn.

No one had blown the horn since each Principality guarding Eden was given one (of course, only _after _Aziraphale mucked things up by not noticing the snake). Not even Malthael, Guardian of the Southern Gate, had blown it, even when his rival demon tied him to a stake and destroyed him with hellfire. (Though Ion had a suspicion that had more to do with Malthael having lost the horn like an idiot and less with Malthael genuinely thinking he had a chance against hellfire.)

And yet it was now that Aziraphale had already been declared a traitor in Heaven that he decided to blow the horn and call all the Principalities to him. In England, no less. Dreadful place, England.

Ion brushed their hands off, shaking their head as they walked down the sidewalk and the world lit up around them. Cars hummed past. Neon signs flashed. Ads with cute cartoon mascots advised them on the best products to buy.

Ion had to admit some curiosity. What was it that caused an angel to betray Heaven so late in the game? Were the rumors true that Aziraphale survived hellfire and never Fell?

And would his rumored demon boyfriend be calling all demons to his side as well?

Ion grimaced at the thought of their own rival, Stygian. They'd been happily ignoring each other since Stygian fixed the mess he made with the Mongols and agreed not to disrupt more of humanity's art. Ion had figured maybe they'd only see each other again during Armageddon as they lined up on opposite sides, give each other polite nods, and then Ion would behead him.

But perhaps it would be good to go to Tadfield anyway, if only to satisfy Ion's curiosity. Maybe they could report back to Heaven to explain what Aziraphale and his demon were doing these days. It would be nice to see Ithuriel again. It'd also be nice to meet whoever it was that replaced Malthael. Maybe Ithuriel would kill the traitors and every demon that dared attend. That would be entertaining to watch.

Mind made up, Ion snapped their fingers. None of the humans noticed when beautiful white wings spread out at their back.

* * *

Long before the horn was blown and the signals were sent, an angel and a demon in England had a _long _discussion about the wisdom of a reunion.

"Half of these people are serial killers, Aziraphale. Literal serial killers." Crowley couldn't even stand still after two bottles of wine. He paced up and down the bookshop, spine somehow even more wiggly than usual. "And I'm not just talking about the ones from _my _side."

"Well, what else can we do, Crowley?" Aziraphale knew better than to try to stop Crowley's frantic pacing. Instead, he stayed at his desk, leaning against it as he watched Crowley. "You said it yourself. The next 'big one', as it were, will be between all of Heaven and Hell and Earth. We can't protect it alone."

"We could protect it easier if we weren't looking at our backs the whole time!" Crowley said.

"We haven't seen them in thousands of years," Aziraphale said, and my, didn't the time fly? "We've changed since then, haven't we? They might have too. They might care about the Earth as much as we do."

"Care about it enough to work together? Not bloody likely," Crowley growled, flailing his hands around in a particularly melodramatic fashion.

"Well, we worked together, didn't we?"

That stopped Crowley in his tracks. He ceased his pacing, turning on his heels to face Aziraphale. He feigned a nonchalant expression, but he'd taken his sunglasses off a bottle ago and his eyes gave him away. "Well. That's different. _We're _different."

"_I _certainly don't know what the other Principalities have gotten up to since Eden," Aziraphale said. He immediately regretted the images that put in his head.

"I do," Crowley said, his tone dark and heavy with history.

Aziraphale softened immediately, standing from his desk. "I know her, Crowley." He crossed the room, taking Crowley's hands in his. He tried to make it a casual thing, but physical affection was still new for them, and Crowley froze as soon as their fingers touched. Like he was scared a single movement might send Aziraphale's hands away. "She only did what she was told to. The only time she's ever destroyed a demon that didn't encroach on her territory, it was because they burned one of our own with hellfire. She won't touch you, especially while I'm there."

"It's not just me I'm worried about," Crowley said. He dared to curl his fingers around Aziraphale's.

"She'd never hurt another angel, and your former colleagues would never try to hurt an angel in her presence." Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hands. "Let's at least try. Earth has an infinitely better chance with them all behind us. If it turns into a mess… well, we've gotten ourselves out of worse messes, haven't we?"

Crowley closed his eyes and sighed, focusing only on the contact between them.

"I suppose we have."

And that's how they ended up calling up the most powerful beings still awake on Earth, and then hanging out in a graveyard in the middle of the night between two picnic tables. Aziraphale had insisted the tables would make this meeting easier. Crowley had said that the tables really only would be useful if a fight broke out and they needed improvised shields. They decided together that they'd put them in.

Wine bottles lay in clusters by the picnic tables. Aziraphale was tempted to open one up prematurely, if only to have something to distract Crowley from all his pacing.

"My dear, you're going to wear a ditch into the ground like that," Aziraphale said, arching an eyebrow.

"At least it'd be something to hide in if someone starts throwing fireballs," Crowley grumbled, looking like he was ready to crawl out of his skin and slither into the ground. Could he do that? Sometimes Crowley's snake-like aspects carried over in weird ways to his human form.

"No one is going to throw fireballs. Probably. It's gone out of fashion." Aziraphale held out his hand. Like a magnet, Crowley came to his side and took it. That, at least, calmed his pacing for the moment. "I really do believe that they will surprise us. _We _surprised us, didn't we?"

"I told you. We're _different _," Crowley hissed.

"But perhaps not as different as you think," Aziraphale said. "You must admit, even if we didn't… get along so well, it's awfully lonely to be the only immortal being on a continent. Six thousand years is a long time to be alone."

"Not that you'd know," Crowley said, daring to take Aziraphale's other hand.

"Indeed." Aziraphale's lips curled at the corners. "I was never alone."

"Am I interrupting something?"

The slimy, rasped voice had an immediate effect. Aziraphale jerked in surprise, suddenly aware they weren't alone. Crowley took a breath, mouth twisting into something that tried to be a smirk but looked more like a grimace, and he spun on his heels to face the voice. They let go of each other's hands.

"Stygian! Good to see you. How long have you been lurking?"

"What do you take me for? I'm always lurking."

The voice slid down the back of Aziraphale's neck like cold sweat. It was nothing like Crowley's, and for the first time in this venture, he had an inkling of Crowley's doubts.

A man materialized from the dark. He wore an old white T-shirt and ragged jeans, had long black hair hanging limp and stringy around his face, and had grown an uneven, oily black beard. He would have just looked like a middle-aged man who had let himself go if it weren't for the eyes. They were goat eyes. Orange with a rectangular pupil, and his teeth as he smiled seemed just a little too long.

He wasn't doing anything threatening, but Aziraphale's gut clenched in his presence in a way it never did in Crowley's. This demon was closer to the ones he met in Hell—removed from humanity, and quite comfortable with it.

"I see you got your new angel boyfriend with you," Stygian said, raking his fingers through his beard. Aziraphale gave him an awkward nod with a grimace, like he was trying to politely acknowledge that he was indeed there. "I have to hand it to you—you have balls to call us all up, Crawly."

Crowley wrinkled his nose. "It's Crowley, now. I changed my name, oh… two thousand years ago?"

"They're calling you worse names downstairs," Stygian said, meandering to the picnic table before sitting down. He sat three feet away from Aziraphale, and yet his presence still made the balmy autumn night uncomfortably hot. "But I wanted to see it for myself. See what all the fuss is about. Maybe figure out why you went turncoat."

"Oooh, are we getting started with gossit?"

Another demon materialized from the darkness. This one was a woman, her entire head save for her eyes hidden by an opaque veil carefully embroidered with intricate, abstract ocean imagery. Betta fish swam by her dark eyes and coral grew from the hems around her shoulders. The rest of her outfit was similarly artistically lavish, with a bright blue oceanic-print dress that flared at her knees and had an extra frill reminiscent of a second skirt around her hips. Honestly, she could pass perfectly well for a human woman, but the smell of sulphur lingered in another plane, alerting Aziraphale to her nature.

"Nestor? You're the one they replaced Asmoth with?" Crowley said.

"Yeah, that's old news, snake dick," Nestor said, her speech carrying an odd quality that sounded like no accent Aziraphale had heard before. She swept to the picnic table, knocking her fist on Stygian's shoulder in recognition. Stygian wrinkled his nose at her. "Any 'ooze?"

Aziraphale picked up a wine bottle and offered it to Nestor. "Of course. Care for a glass?"

"Don't need one, wingding." Nestor snatched up the bottle, perching on the table with her shoes on the bench, snapping her fingers once to remove the cork, then again to make a big bendy metal straw appear in the bottle. She awkwardly fed the straw over the hem of her face covering under her eyes. Aziraphale tried not to be horrified.

"Are you going to take that thing off?" Crowley asked.

"Are you going to take oth those stu'id glasses?" The straw rattled against Nestor's teeth as she spoke.

Crowley's face screwed up a little before he gave a little nod and a shrug. "Alright, fair enough."

"You're infuriating to listen to as always, Nestor," Stygian said, picking up a bottle of his own.

Nestor held up her middle finger. "'Uck you."

"None of the angels have arrived yet," Aziraphale said, keeping his voice low as he leaned in close to Crowley. "You don't think—"

"Don't worry adout it, wingding," Nestor said, pausing briefly between long sips of wine. Aziraphale hoped 'wingding' wasn't going to be a _thing. _"Ester is on her way."

"Esther?" Aziraphale furrowed his brow. "I didn't know he was assigned to Earth. Doesn't he handle intake of human souls into Heaven?"

"Not Esther! _Ester! _"

"I think she's saying 'Esper,'" Crowley said, arching an eyebrow. Nestor nodded, pointing at Crowley.

"You know, the one who nade rainclouds?" Nestor said.

"Goodness, that was a long time ago," Aziraphale said to himself. It really _was _a long time ago. Before the Fall, even. "But yes, I remember now, thank you."

Nestor wrinkled her nose before pointing more emphatically at Crowley.

"Train wingding detter. You don't _thank _denons."

"He can't help it. He's an _angel, _" Stygian said, voice layered with meanness that chilled Aziraphale, and had Crowley flashing a warning scowl. Stygian said the word 'angel' like Crowley said the word 'nice.' " _Angels _thank people even if they don't mean it."

"And you don't _train _angels," Aziraphale said primly, frowning at the two guests in the uncertain way of a man who was wondering if he made a terrible mistake.

"I train Ester," Nestor said, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a cruel smile.

"You do _not! _"

_Finally_, someone who wasn't a demon showed up. Aziraphale wasn't even upset that it was the one angel he knew the least of the three. Esper marched up the dirt road, looking like she was trying to be graceful but her fierce glare at Nestor belied any grace she had. Her black hair formed dreadlocks swept into a rough ponytail, her feet were clad only in simple slippers, and she wore a white tunic that seemed to glow in the dim light. Esper's fashion sense was much like Aziraphale's when he had first started on Earth. It was appropriate, considering she was the newest angel on the team.

"Ester! You're here now," Nestor said, the corners of her eyes crinkling further as she grabbed another bottle of wine and offered it to Esper. "Take the wine. Let's 'ury the hatchet."

"You turned that wine into vinegar," Esper said with the certainty of someone who had absolutely fallen for that before.

"I would nether," said Nestor in the voice of someone who absolutely would, taking a sip of her own wine through the straw.

Esper snapped her fingers and Nestor immediately started choking, ripping the straw from her face cover and cursing as she poured out all the liquid in her wine bottle, which now smelled strongly of vinegar.

Crowley sent a Look at Aziraphale. Aziraphale was determined not to meet it.

"Esper! So lovely to see you after all these years," Aziraphale said, crossing the clearing to greet her properly. Esper's back was ramrod straight, and her eyes held the same level of appraising criticism that Gabriel's or Michael's did. Yet Esper still took Aziraphale's hand between hers. It was a victory of its own. "I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to properly welcome you to Earth. I never really got around to it before, you know…"

"Two thousand years fly by fast," Esper agreed, shaking his hand before letting go. She spared a look at the rest of the clearing, brow furrowing. "So… it's true that you're cavorting with demons."

Aziraphale cleared his throat while Stygian and Nestor nodded emphatically. "Well, I'm not sure if _cavorting _is really the right word."

Crowley swept closer, shoulder to shoulder with Aziraphale as he crossed his arms, making a little 'get on with it' gesture. "We've got important things to do, so if you want to be sanctimonious, get it out of your system now."

Esper scowled at Crowley, taking a step back as he approached. It was like she was worried he'd get her tunic dirty. Had Aziraphale ever treated Crowley like that? "I'll be sanctimonious when I want to be. Why did you two even call us here?"

"I'd like to know that too," Nestor said, raising a hand as she snapped her fingers to refill her bottle of wine.

"Isn't it obvious? They want us to go turncoat with them," Stygian said, swirling the remaining wine in his bottle.

Esper jerked her head back like she'd just smelled something awful, sending a look that held all of Heaven's judgment to Aziraphale. Aziraphale shrank, uncomfortably smoothing his jacket, which only made Crowley's hackles rise.

"Is that true? You want us all to go against God?" Esper said.

"Already did that," Nestor said as she fed her straw through her covering again.

"Not God! I'd never betray the Almighty," Aziraphale said, appalled at the very idea.

"God's not the same as Heaven," Crowley said, too much acid on his tongue. "Maybe you haven't been here long enough to—"

"Are we going to fight already? Because I was hoping we'd at least wait for Ion to show up," Stygian said between gulps of wine. Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley's arm, clearing his throat. Crowley did not relax, but he did shut up, glaring at Aziraphale.

"I… I understand your hesitation," Aziraphale said, striking the most reasoned tone he could. This was a fellow angel. He could speak her language if he only _tried. _Esper's arms crossed and she stared at him with all the judgment of an archangel. He wondered if he ever made Crowley feel this way. "I hesitated too. I thought that maybe all I needed to do was ask for Her instructions. But She gave us free will and a conscience for a reason, and the Archangels were never meant to replace those."

"We've already _been _through this," Esper said, glaring at him while she rubbed her temple. "Don't you remember? Big war? Half of the angelic host dropping from the sky into some sulphur and coming out with animal parts?"

"Sorry, can you say that louder? I think I just heard you say you renender the Thall!" Nestor snapped. Esper ignored her.

"But _I _haven't Fallen," Aziraphale said. That got everyone's attention.

"That's the runor," Nestor said, one eye narrowing as she shifted her focus back on Aziraphale. "I don't see any white wings."

"I wanted to hear about that, too," Stygian said, tossing his empty wine bottle at a tombstone. It shattered into glittering pieces, provoking disapproving looks from Esper and Aziraphale. "See for myself."

"Show us the wings!" Nestor said, raising her bottle like a call to action.

"Do I look like I—_fine. _" Aziraphale gave a long-suffering sigh before rolling his shoulders and pulling his wings from the pocket dimension they hid in.

It was always such a natural thing. He almost forgot he even had wings half the time, given how much he hid them. They weren't there, and then suddenly they were, big and white and feathery as ever. But despite the fact that everyone in the clearing had wings of their own, they stared at his like they were a Gutenberg Bible.

Esper sat down far away from Nestor. "Fine. I'll hear you out."

"Oh, thank you," Aziraphale said, softening immediately as he put his wings back in their pocket dimension. If he had known convincing her would be that easy, he'd have kept his wings out from the beginning. "You know, I really am quite glad you came. It seems you're the only angel that did."

"Ion's probably coming," Stygian said. "You just called us during their _theater time. _They'd ignore Armageddon if it happened during a show."

"Well, we'll never know now, will we?" said a new voice. Aziraphale knew that cool, slightly irritated tone, even if he hadn't heard it in thousands of years. The fourth guest had arrived, tapping up the hill in smart glossy shoes that somehow remained untouched by the grave dirt.

Aziraphale hadn't seen Ion more or less in six thousand years, and time had changed their sense of fashion significantly. They wore a finely tailored suit that looked just old enough to be timeless. Their long black hair was swept up in a careful braided bun held together with the most elegant silver kanzashi Aziraphale had seen. The kanzashi was sculpted white chrysanthemums with white tails that hung like feathers on the back of Ion's neck.

Ion had a mildly irritated look on their face as they spoke. "These two stopped Armageddon from happening."

Ion walked right past Aziraphale even as he reached out with a smile. "Don't get excited," Ion said. Their voice rivaled Stygian's for chilliness, even as they gave Stygian a polite nod in greeting. Stygian gave a polite nod back. "I'm just here to see if Ithuriel kills you all."

"Shit!" Nestor tore her straw from her facial covering, nearly dropping her wine bottle. "Ithuriel's coning?"

"Of course she is." Ion picked up a wine bottle without asking, frowning at the label before snapping their fingers. It turned into fine sake. "The horn summons _all _the Principalities on Earth."

"She's not going to hurt anyone without cause," Aziraphale said, frowning pointedly at Ion. Really, there was no need to rustle up panic where there didn't have to be any.

"Without cause?" Ion scoffed before snapping their fingers again. A sake glass appeared in their hand with elegantly painted bamboo patterns. "I'd say that given her track record, she'll consider betraying Heaven and stopping Armageddon to be cause enough."

Crowley moved on instinct, shifting so that he could easily jump between Aziraphale and Ion, like Ion themselves were threatening them. Aziraphale's cheeks lost color. Crowley had brought up the idea, of course, but to hear another angel who knew Ithuriel just as well as Aziraphale suggest that she could possibly… "She would _never— _"

And then something rumbled in the distance.

Silence fell. It was the silence that came before a tornado, the silence that all of nature down to the very leaves respected. Stygian's shoulders stiffened, goat eyes fixed on the dirt road leading into the graveyard. Nestor's legs tensed, like she was ready to hitch up her dress and sprint away. Crowley and Aziraphale went rigid at the same time, their fingers brushing each other. Even Esper's knuckles went white at her sides, casting her eyes around at the group and worrying her lip, as if deciding whether she really wanted to see them all dead.

Ion poured themselves a glass of sake.

The rumbling came again. It was steady now, traveling closer and closer up the dirt path.

But it wasn't the dreaded thunder. As it neared, it was more like a rattle. When the rattling cleared the wall of trees into eyeshot, it wasn't a vengeful angel. It was just a thin, wiry demon with a downcast face, dragging a cart bearing a long crate behind him. His straight, gray-flecked hair was pulled in a braid that hung down his back, but his eyes were two black voids flanked with tattoos of wide black circles dotting his face and forehead to his hairline, vaguely resembling additional eyes. Shimmering earrings that belonged more in the seventies than now dangled from his ears.

He rolled his cart into the clearing, and only when he stopped it with one bony ankle did he turn his head up to face the crowd.

"I can't believe everyone came," he said in a thin, weak voice.

"Who the Hell are you?" Ion said, voice completely flat.

"Ghast." Ghast moved to the side of the cart, examining the crate sitting on top. "I replaced Fester in the Americas."

"No way," Crowley said, shaking his head. He stepped forward, instinctively standing between Aziraphale and the new demon. Really, Aziraphale didn't think it was necessary. Of all the demons here, this new one looked to be the least threatening. "Ithuriel melted Fester into scrap two thousand years ago, and she goes through America's demons like popcorn. Aren't you the one I used to send my memos to?"

"Used to be." It was hard to read expressions in a person who had literally no pupils (or sclera or irises), but he still managed to arch an eyebrow. "And weren't you the demon who survived holy water? Funny person to talk about what is and isn't possible."

Crowley worked his jaw for a moment before jerking his head in acknowledgement. Nestor raised her hand. "Yeah, are we going to talk adout that?

"What's in the box?" Stygian said, completely ignoring Nestor. Everyone else ignored Nestor too.

Ghast pulled a pair of worn leather gloves from his trench coat pocket. They had to be tailored. They slid over his unusually spindly fingers perfectly. "A lot has happened since Eden." He grabbed the lid of the crate, grunting as he pushed it off. "But I thought she'd want to be here."

Lying in the cushioned box was a woman well over six feet tall, her dark brown hair tied in two braids and her hands still on her chest, fingers wrapped around the hilt of her sword. The sword that killed all the firstborn sons of Egypt.

Ithuriel, Guardian of the Western Gate and Angel of Death, slept like the dead.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a review if you are so inclined.

I have a tumblr called themadqueenmab. Feel free to contact me, or just browse my blog for the various drabble-y fics I put up there and don't get around to putting here. Thanks to AJ and Dex for looking this over for me!


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